


Like begets like

by Nival_Vixen



Category: The Fall (TV), The Fall (UK 2013)
Genre: Accidental Death, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Evil, Asphyxiation, Character Development, Complete, Dark, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Family Feels, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Loving Marriage, Mild Smut, Murderers, Original Character Death(s), Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Serial Killers, Slow Build, accidental murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 02:24:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5357387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nival_Vixen/pseuds/Nival_Vixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sally Ann is worried that her husband's the Belfast strangler.</p><p>She should probably be more worried about the fact that she just killed a man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She doesn't quite know what leads her to Katie's Facebook page, but Sally Ann hasn't been thinking straight for months, ever since Paul admitted to his affair with their children's babysitter. It doesn't take long to create an account with a false identity, and Sally Ann sits there for a few minutes deliberating over what she's about to do before she exhales heavily and hits 'send friend request'. Sally Ann feels a little sick at just how quickly Katie accepts her friend request, despite the fact that the name is no one she's ever met, doesn't know, isn't real.

 

 _Doesn't she have any sense of self-preservation?_ Sally Ann thinks to herself, even as she scrolls through Katie's page.

 

She might have forgiven Paul for the sake of their unborn baby, but that doesn't mean she trusts him. She has no idea who he is, beyond her husband and father of her children, and his affair had only cemented those feelings of mistrust. Sally Ann is desperate for any kind of knowledge, and is willing to do whatever it takes - even befriend her husband's mistress - to find out _something_ about her husband.

 

Katie mostly uploads videos of herself singing; some are covers, but the more recent videos are original songs. Sally Ann bypasses them, not sure that she can listen to that sweet young girl's voice with her frame of mind right now. The first status post she sees is a simple heart emoticon, followed by a snake. It was posted the day after they returned to Belfast. The status itself has received over 200 likes for a reason that Sally Ann can't determine on sight, but thankfully, some of Katie's friends have questioned her about the post. Katie's responses are vague, but as the hours tick by on the status posts, her vagueness finally drops and there's a final message: Python, love of my life has come back to me.

 

Sally Ann doesn't know if she wants to throw up or scratch her own eyes out. God, she wants to post a message of her own, telling the young girl not to be so damn foolish, she's 16 for god's sakes, there's no way that anyone is the love of her life at that age. But she knows it's cynical and bitter, so she refrains.

 

She keeps scrolling through the girl's Facebook page, thinking back to all of Paul's late nights, all of the "volunteering at the hotline" he'd done. There are times when it's obvious he wasn't with Katie, simply because of the amount of statuses she posts on those nights. There's one, barely two months ago, that makes Sally Ann stop completely. She stares at the screen, blinking, and trying to organise the emotions that are rolling over her, through her, turning her inside out, and into a completely bloody mess.

 

 _OMFG mum, stop asking, I'm still a fucking virgin, fml!_ -_-

 

The post is enough to make her close the browser, move back away from the desk, and clutch at her stomach so she really doesn't throw up this time. _Paul_ ** _lied_** _to me again_ , she thinks. It takes her a few minutes to get through her emotive state: anger, disbelief, confusion, until finally she lands squarely on an emotional state Sally Ann likes to call 'what the fuck?', because if Paul had lied to her about having an affair with Katie, then what the fuck was he doing all of those late nights?

 

Her fears and suspicions from two months ago rear their ugly head to the surface, and Sally Ann slides the chair back to the computer, opening a new search window.

 

_Belfast strangler_

 

...

 

Paul's walked Katie home, fended off her advances and avoided her attempt to kiss him again, and heads home. Sally Ann's been home with morning (and afternoon and evening) sickness these last few days, a kind reprieve granted by her boss at the hospital since they all know Sally Ann's sickness is only temporary for a week or so. Paul figures that his wife is waiting on him to get home from work, especially since her mother is taking care of the kids for this week to let Sally Ann rest. In fact, Sally Ann's probably sitting at the front window watching out for him, like the dutiful wife she is. Or a suspicious one, at the very least. Paul has no doubts that he's alleviated that particular fear with his wife, and lying about having an affair with Katie sure as fuck didn't help, but they'll get through it, he'll make sure of it. His persona as Paul Spector is far too convenient to give up, and despite the fears (and lungs) of Olivia and the shyness of Liam, he's fond of the kids. Paul's sure he'll be fond of the third one, eventually.

 

Paul is a little surprised to find that Sally Ann's not home when he arrives, but he thinks that she's gone to her mother's for the evening after all. He spends his newfound free hours organising things for his next victim, a lovely brunette that works in one of Belfast's many pubs. Katie's role will be somewhat greater this time, a way to help guide her into being exactly what he needs. Paul's far too aware that the girl is mostly doing this because she thinks he'll fuck her someday, but he actually doesn't give a fuck about that. He'll string her along until she's fulfilled her purpose, and not even Paul knows when that will be.

 

Sally Ann's left meat out in the kitchen sink to thaw, and as it's defrosted, Paul decides to cook dinner for them. He's hungry, and besides, it could be a way to help smooth over any ... bumps in their relationship. _Obviously, he couldn't possibly have been out fucking their babysitter if he's been home making dinner, now could he?_

 

Paul smirks to himself and sets about the kitchen to cook, as meticulous in his organisation and preparation as he was less than fifteen minutes ago for his next soon-to-be-strangled victim.

 

...

 

Sally Ann is disorientated when she wakes up the next morning. For a moment, she has no idea where she is, or what happened, or why her hands are aching, but then it all comes rushing back to her.

 

She'd spent hours pouring through information about the Belfast strangler, eventually going back to Katie's Facebook page for another hour or so, reading over the young girl's infatuation with her husband for over a year now. The recent timelines over the past six months linked in her mind as she thought about her husband and his lies and deceit. Sally Ann had sat there thinking about their damn babysitter and how they'd actually gone out together and bought Katie a 15th birthday present last year, how Katie knew that Paul was married and they had two children together for fuck's sakes, and yet she was still posting statuses about how handsome he was, laughing about her plans to try to lure him away from his homely wife, how she wanted to fuck him (god, the things she posted on Facebook for anyone to see made Sally Ann feel so angry and hurt and upset and pissed off all at once, and she was tempted to send all of them to Katie's mother, just to see her truly fucking suffer).

 

From there, Sally Ann had decided to go find Paul, to demand answers - _real answers this time, no more of his damn lies!_ \- and despite not knowing where he was in Belfast, Sally Ann had grabbed her coat and left the house. She'd walked for an hour without a real destination in mind, just aimlessly wandering and looking out for her husband (and babysitter too, probably). Then Sally Ann had seen him. Paul heading down the street, jacket bundled around him to ward against the cold air, walking quickly. It was too cold for most people to be out, so there weren't many people around, and Sally Ann wasn't given a second glance as she followed after Paul. She was at too far a distance to call out to him, so she started to jog after Paul to catch up to him that much sooner. Paul continued at his fast pace, almost too fast for her to catch, and by the time Sally Ann was close enough to call out, she just didn't bother, running the last few metres to grab her husband by the jacket and pull him aside.

 

It wasn't Paul, but at the same time, it was. She knew that, she swears she did, but one second she was staring at this poor terrified man who'd just been accosted by a complete stranger, and then the next minute it was _Paul_ staring at her, watching and smirking and taunting her all at once. Sally Ann couldn't stop herself, her vision seeing red, seeing Paul, seeing Paul covered in red and his face turning blue and Paul choking and trying to escape, trying to get away, trying to beg, to plead for forgiveness. It was just all lies again, Paul lying to her and expecting her to believe it, and then ... then, he stopped. He stopped completely.

 

Sally Ann comes back to herself to see that she's just choked a man to death.

 

...

 

End of the first chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

Paul is surprised to find Sally Ann sitting downstairs the next morning, staring at the blank TV screen.

 

"All right, Sally Ann?" he queries, voice soft in the way it is when he's working and dealing with bereaved parents.

 

She startles and looks up at him with wide eyes. Paul wonders what she knows, what she's found out, to make her look so distressed.

 

"I... I," she falters, then she looks back to the TV. Before he can say or do anything, Sally Ann shakes her head, and starts again, "I'm hungry."

 

"Did you eat last night?" Paul offers, kind and warm husband, definitely not a murderer or adulterer, not at all.

 

"I... no, I didn't," Sally Ann murmurs, almost sounding surprised at the realisation.

 

Paul frowns; he hasn't seen Sally Ann this out of it in a long time. "Were you out all night?"

 

"Yes. Emergency at the hospital," she says.

 

"I'll make you breakfast," Paul offers, resting his hand on Sally Ann's shoulder gently and squeezing.

 

It doesn't escape his notice that she flinches when he touches her, and Paul grits his teeth, absolutely hating his past self for royally fucking up this persona this damn much. He might have to leave Belfast if Sally Ann won't trust him again, and this time he'll have to go on his own. Paul hates that even more than he'd like to admit.

 

...

 

Sally Ann doesn't know why she lied. She could have just as easily told Paul what she had done, because honestly, Paul couldn't exactly turn her in to the police, now, could he? She wants to laugh and cry and throw up again (she barely managed to keep the bile down until she got home; she might have killed someone, but she's not stupid enough to leave evidence like _that_ at a crime scene), but Sally Ann doesn't do any of that. Instead, she just sits there and waits as Paul makes her breakfast and tea.

 

"Mind if I turn on the TV?" Paul asks, setting her plate and mug on the coffee table in front of her.

 

Sally Ann wants to say no, because she's terrified of what will be on, what they'll be saying about her, but at the same time, she's curious to see what they've said, if the murder's been reported or if it's been linked to the Belfast strangler - her husband. So instead, she makes a small sound that's both yes and no. Sally Ann almost laughs at Paul's sudden indecision, obviously trying to get and stay in her good books, but he eventually succumbs to his own curiosity and turns the TV on.

 

The news hasn't started yet, so they both sit through a few mind-numbing minutes of Saturday morning TV, and Sally Ann eats her breakfast on autopilot. She's finished her toast and is halfway through the mug of tea when the news finally comes on, and her hand's trembling when she sets the mug down. Paul notices that, but he doesn't say anything because the news reporter mentions the Belfast strangler, and that's _his_ attention gone.

 

" _The Belfast strangler may have a copycat. Last night, a male victim was strangled to death in Castlereagh, and left posed against an industrial building._ "

 

The man is shown on the screen then, an amateur video taken by someone with a smartphone. His face is clear, and he is leaning back against the building almost casually if not for the blue tinge to his skin. His shirt is unbuttoned and hanging off one shoulder, his leg bent, and trousers undone. Fuck, Sally Ann doesn't even _remember_ posing him like that.

 

" _Police have no leads at this time, but they -_ "

 

Sally Ann blinks as the reporter's face disappears. She realises that the TV is off, and she looks over to Paul. He's grinning at her, a smile so wide and genuine that it makes her think all too clearly of the past eight years of fake smiles he's given her. Her hands clench into fists; Sally Ann wants to leap across the living room and _kill someone_ for the second time in as many days. She forces herself to stay seated where she is, and looks from Paul back to the TV.

 

"Why'd you turn the TV off?" she asks, hoping she sounds innocent and her voice doesn't waver like she thinks it does.

 

"Sally Ann," Paul breathes, and he's staring at her like he's never seen her before in his life. Funny that, because she feels the same way about him these days. "Sally Ann, my beauty, what did you do?"

 

She breaks then, breaks into a million tiny pieces because Paul, her damn murderous husband, hasn't called her 'my beauty' since their children were born, and she hates him so much because she loves him just as much now as she ever has, and she hates herself for that too. The fact that he's killed people doesn't seem to get in the way of that all encompassing love, and she is absolutely disgusted with herself. In that same moment, broken into a million pieces and sobbing while Paul watches her fondly, Sally Ann hates herself just as much as she loves/hates her husband.

 

...

 

All thoughts of grooming Katie to help him leave Paul the split second he realises what his wife has done. He loves her then in a way that he never has before, in a way that he never could and never thought he would. Paul wants to wipe away her tears and kiss her and make love to her until they're both consumed by it. He wants his wife as much as he wants his next victim, and despite being together for eight years, Paul can honestly say he has never felt _that_ for Sally Ann before.

 

He moves slowly, cautiously, and makes his way over to his sobbing wife. Paul gives her a second to decide, to push him away or slap him, hell, he'd even let her try to kill him right now, but Sally Ann doesn't do any of that, and Paul gathers her in his arms. Sally Ann cries against his shoulder and Paul shivers pleasantly at the feel of her, stroking her hair and murmuring soothing words quietly.

 

Paul thinks of the man on the TV, a man with features _just_ close enough to resemble his own, and he loves his wife even more. He laughs softly to himself at the sudden influx of emotion and pulls back from Sally Ann's clutching embrace so he can kiss her gently, lovingly, in a way that hasn't been genuine for some time. She grips at his shoulders, nails firm and digging in, and Paul's kiss turns sharp as she bites at his lip, drawing his tongue into her mouth only to bite at that too. He can tell that she wants to make him hurt, make him bleed, and Paul can't stop the smile that forms. Just this once, he'll let her do exactly that.

 

...

 

Again, Sally Ann doesn't know what comes over her. One minute she's crying, sobbing in regret and remorse, and the next, she's pushed Paul back on the lounge room floor to straddle him, kissing and biting and nipping at him in so many places that there's no doubt he'll bruise. She tastes blood at some point, but it doesn't matter whether it's his or hers, she wants to keep going, to feel something, to punish her husband, all of it, she doesn't even know anymore. Then she's pulled Paul's boxers down, stroked him once, twice, and he's hard already and smiling up at her with a look of amusement.

 

Sally Ann doesn't want to see that expression, that familiar smirk that he always gave on board game night or before he presented her with a gift or when he saw her naked for the first, second, third, and all times since. She hates that he's amused by this, that he's turned on, that she's turned on, and she rides his dick hard, slamming down until he grunts at the contact. She likes that sound better, and Sally Ann digs her fingernails into his shoulders to keep him in place. For this moment, he's hers to use, not the other way around.

 

She fucks down on him over and over, her nails clawing at him and her body squeezing around him until he's gasping. It's not in pain though, it's in pleasure, and Sally Ann almost hates that the same feeling is coursing through herself. She's loving this in a way that she never thought she would. She doesn't mind a bit of experimenting in the bedroom, but fucking in the lounge room with the blinds open for the world to see, and making Paul groan and bleed and fucking down on him until they're both sore and spent, with her falling on top of him, sweaty and panting restlessly, everything aching and her fingertips bloody from the marks she gouged into him? _That's_ outside of her comfort zone entirely.

 

But then again, so is killing a man.

 

...

 

End of the second chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Paul gets every single detail from Sally Ann that he possibly can. They rest back against the lounge, drink their cold tea, Paul's leg knocking against hers as he asks to know what happened. Sally Ann goes quiet and soft, her voice detached and emotionless as she relates her evening the night before, and Paul listens, enraptured in the same way their children are with story time at night. She hasn't even finished her tale before he decides that he can't go through with his next intended victim. As tempting as the idea of killing that woman was, Paul has an even greater desire now: he wants to see his wife kill someone.

 

"I... I don't know what to do, Paul. We..." Sally Ann pauses for a moment, looking down at the empty mug resting in her hands, then to her stomach where their baby's still growing and developing. "I can't leave the kids alone. If I turn myself in, the police will realise my alibi for you was fake, and you'll probably end up in a gaol cell next to me," she says, looking to her husband.

 

"Then don't turn yourself in," Paul replies, as if it's as simple as that.

 

"But I killed someone. Someone - _an innocent person!_ \- is dead because of me," Sally Ann says, her voice near on hysterical now that she's calm enough to let the emotion filter through.

 

"You're not the first person to do that, and trust me, my beauty, you won't be the last. Human nature won't allow it," Paul murmurs, almost reverently.

 

"I... I don't want to be part of that nature, whether or not you think it's ' _human!_ '" Sally Ann snaps, glowering at him.

 

Paul smirks and laughs. "Oh, my beauty, I think you do."

 

Sally Ann gets up and takes her empty plate and mug to the kitchen. They don't talk for a few hours after that, Sally Ann still steaming and mad at him, but Paul knows he's planted the idea in her head, and he's sure that it won't be long before she's tearing through the streets of Belfast looking for another to kill. He just hopes that this time, he'll be right there with her.

 

...

 

Sally Ann greets her children with hugs and kisses. She does the same with her mother, thanking her for looking after the kids for her. Her mother smiles and clucks on about their behaviour, how her grand-daughter slept the whole night through and her grand-son was an absolute talker. Sally Ann can see her mother's gaze going over her shoulder, in to the house, and it's obvious she's looking for Paul. Paul had left for work this morning, kissing her firmly and murmuring sweet words about staying home in bed as he pulled away with that infuriatingly sexy smirk of his. Sally Ann had pushed him out the door instead.

 

She thanks her mother again, says goodbye, ushers her children inside, and closes the door in her mother's face. It'll probably be a while before her mother forgives her for that, but Sally Ann is still too wound up and nervous to be overly worried. She fixes lunch for her children, watches them carefully as they eat and squabble; her mother's probably loaded them full of sugar for the past week, so it'll be some time before they come down from that. Sally Ann really hopes it's sooner rather than later. She needs to _think_ and she needs peace and quiet for that.

 

The children aren't aware of their mother's internal struggle and spend the rest of the afternoon racing around the house, apparently playing a new game they'd seen on the TV while at Grandma's. Sally Ann has a migraine by the end of the day, and she sure as hell doesn't regret closing the door on her mother at all anymore. The kids barely settle down when their father returns home, but they get through the next three hours with dinner, baths, and stories, and finally, Sally Ann and Paul have the house to themselves as their children slumber on in pure exhaustion.

 

"Miss me, my beauty?" Paul asks, grinning.

 

"Oh, shut up," Sally Ann mutters, shoving at his face. "I haven't had a minute of peace all day, and you've probably been sitting in your office all day relaxing."

 

Paul hums in agreement. "There was some of that. Mostly I was hiding from some of the more... inquisitive staff members that were all desperate to know about the spitfire I'd married," he adds with a wink.

 

Sally Ann can see the bruises littering his neck, the faint scratches that delve into his collared shirt, and she feels strangely possessive; she hates that other people have seen those marks, the marks that belong to _her_.

 

"And what did you tell them?" she asks, almost desperate to know, her throat and mouth dry.

 

Paul crowds up against her, firm and lean and demanding with his presence, and he moves until his mouth rests next to her ear. "I told them that it wasn't any of their fucking business," he says, finishing his sentence by biting on her ear lobe firmly.

 

The moan that escapes her is almost loud enough to wake the kids up, and they both still, waiting for a telltale sign of screaming or pitter pattering feet. Paul waits a moment longer, watching the doorway to make sure Olivia hasn't snuck up on him silently again, then satisfied that they're safe, resumes his ministrations on Sally Ann's ear lobe. She's a shivering mess within minutes and hates that he can always do this to her, even when she doesn't _like_ him right now, but she's never had much in the way of resistance when it comes to Paul. She slips her hand under his shirt, fingertips lightly brushing against the scratches that she knows cover his chest, and she can feel his pulse racing and see him holding his breath as she strokes the raised welts on his skin. Paul's hands are trembling as he unbuttons his shirt, and she feels powerful in that moment, that she could reduce her fearsome murderous husband to be trembling at a touch.

 

A high-pitched scream has them pulling apart quickly, and Sally Ann fans herself to cool her face before rushing off to their daughter's yells of 'Mummy!'. Behind her she can hear Paul swearing under his breath as he takes a moment to gather control before he follows her, re-buttoning his shirt along the way.

 

...

 

End of the third chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

Sally Ann's still not feeling a hundred percent, but her allowed time off from work has ended, and if she doesn't go in to the hospital today, she'll probably lose her job completely. Running off to Scotland at a whim doesn't exactly inspire much confidence in those re-hiring you, it seems.

 

She drops the children at daycare, blowing them kisses and smiling. Sally Ann tries to act as though it's any other day; if her husband can do this every damn day, then so can she. It's been four days since she killed the man, and with no leads, the news has died down and the police are re-focusing their attention on the Belfast strangler again.

 

Sally Ann pulls away from the daycare, heading to the hospital. Her drive takes her past the high school, as always, and she can't help but scan the crowds of teenagers. She used to do the same thing in complete innocence, to wave to Katie and give the young girl a smile. It was rare that Katie even saw her or waved back, usually surrounded by friends, but it made Sally Ann feel as though she'd done a good deed for the day. She sees Katie and today, the teenager actually sees her for once. Katie's eyes widen and she stops dead in her tracks. Sally Ann is struck with a sudden desire to turn the wheel just _slightly_ to the left, to direct the car towards the girl that's actively and knowingly trying to ruin her marriage. Instead, she forces herself to look away from the girl and keeps on driving.

 

It isn't until she's driving into the hospital's staff carpark that Sally Ann realises just how tight she's gripping the steering wheel. Her hands are white and aching when she lets go, a rush of blood turning her fingers red a second later. _The man's face was red like that_ , Sally Ann thinks to herself, staring at her hands. She exhales shakily and gets out of the car, determined not to think about it again.

 

Three hours later, Mrs. Doherty's newborn is wheeled into the ward.  Sally Ann steels herself before leaving to deal with the baby's parents.  Mr. Doherty is not a pleasant man, and in the last year, Mrs. Doherty has been admitted to hospital for far more than her pregnancy. She refuses to do anything against her husband, despite the various bruises, fractures, and dislocations. The doctors and nurses have contemplated calling the police on her behalf, but know that they would only be making things worse. Sally Ann's not surprised to see their baby admitted into the neonatal ward; after the things Mr. Doherty had done to his wife, no one was sure that she'd be able to carry to term. The baby's three months early, so the nurses and doctors were right in some sense, but it's a miracle that Mrs. Doherty's lasted this long.

 

Mr. Doherty is, as Sally Ann expects, hostile and demanding. He demands to see his child, and each time he raises his voice or his hand, Mrs. Doherty flinches back. Sally Ann has dealt with men like Mr. Doherty before though, and keeps her voice calm and even, telling him that the baby is too fragile and weak to be seen yet. The baby hasn't fully developed, and it would put the child at risk if he was to see the baby so soon.

 

"My baby's a Doherty, he's not weak!" Mr. Doherty sneers. "You're probably keepin' him to ye'self, goin' to sell him on the black market. I know all 'bout those adoption scams!"

 

"She," Sally Ann says, and Mrs. Doherty whimpers, clutching at the bedsheets. Mr. Doherty just looks confused, so she explains, "You have a daughter, Mr. Doherty."

 

Mr. Doherty's face turns bright red ( _then blue, then purple, and finally white, as death claims him,_ Sally Ann thinks to herself, remembering another man's face all too clearly) and he turns on his wife, hand raised. "You promised me a boy!"

 

"Actually, it's the male's sperm that decides the gender of any offspring, so if you should be hurting anyone, it's yourself," Sally Ann snaps, seeing the way Mrs. Doherty's eyes widen and her hands tremble.

 

"WHAT?!" Mr. Doherty's face turns an even darker shade of red and he lifts a hand as if to hit her.

 

Sally Ann inhales and exhales steadily, keeping her emotions calm and reigning her immediate response to lash out under a tight leash. In that moment, she knows she could kill him, that she _would_ kill him. The bed pan under the bed is a heavy metal thing, it would cause the most damage; the drip in his wife's arm can be extracted and stabbed directly into his own body, and the influx of drugs would overwhelm his system shortly; otherwise, there's always her hands. Now she knows from experience that they'll do the job just fine.

 

"It's a scientific fact, Mr. Doherty. I can show you the research, if you're interested?" Sally Ann offers, and god, she wonders if this is how her husband feels every day when he has that taunting smirk on his face.

 

Mr. Doherty storms out of the room, yelling something about supervisors and getting her fired over his shoulder. Sally Ann ignores him - it's not the first time someone's threatened her with that, after all - and checks on Mrs. Doherty to make sure she's all right and not relapsed into a shocked state. She's trembling still, but seems otherwise fine, and she looks away when Sally Ann questions her wellbeing.

 

"I'm fine. Get out 'fore you really piss him off," she mutters, fingers clenched in the sheets again.

 

Sally Ann ignores her request in favour of passing her the call button that usually hangs from the wall next to the bed. "Press that the minute you need something, even if it's something to eat or drink, okay?"

 

Mrs. Doherty nods, and Sally Ann finally leaves. At the nurse's station, she can see Mr. Doherty ranting to her supervisor, who looks over at her with an imperceptible grimace but it's not directed towards her in a way that means she's fired; they deal with things like this far too often. Sally Ann mouths 'sorry' back to her, but is glad that she really won't be fired. Going back to the neonatal ward, Sally Ann checks over her tiny patients one by one. The Doherty baby is at the end of the row, a small, tiny, fragile, and red baby with tubes up her nose because her lungs are underdeveloped and she needs help to breathe.

 

She strokes the baby's head gently, listening to the machines beeping around them, and wonders if she would be doing a service to the child if she just ... stopped the machines. Sally Ann pulls her hand out of the incubator abruptly, cradling her hands to her chest as though she's been scalded. In all her years as a nurse, she's never. No, she can't finish that thought because deep down she knows that it's not true. There have been hundreds like Mr. Doherty, and there'll be more, she's sure of it.

 

Sometimes when she's caring for these babies that are so weak the slightest drop in temperature could kill them, she briefly wonders if their lives would be worth the abuse they're sure to go through at the hands of their own mother or father. She hates it, wants to whisk them all away to loving people and doting parents, but she can't do that either, and so, she's forced to watch the fragile, tiny babies leave with parents that love power and control more than their child. (There are times, when Sally Ann sees them come back into the hospital, five years later with a bruised eye from "falling over" that she hates herself almost as much as the parents.)

 

Sally Ann spends the rest of her shift on autopilot and refuses to _think_ until she's finished and heading home.

 

...

 

"Why Katie?" Sally Ann asks of Paul that night, after the kids are tucked away in bed.

 

The question surprises Paul, as he's busy trying to decipher their daughter's latest masterpiece (finally, the blood and rape images have stopped, but that doesn't make this _thing_ any better; Olivia told him it's a monster, but Paul's pretty sure it's just a stick figure of a person). He looks over at his wife, sees that she's serious about her question, and he takes a moment to think about it for himself.

 

"She was there and easy to manipulate. She'd do anything with the belief that I'd fuck her," Paul says with a shrug.

 

Sally Ann processes his response for a long moment, and Paul returns to Olivia's drawing. He can kind of see the monster there, if he imagines the stick figure's himself. Yeah, he can definitely see that.

 

"You could have manipulated me, but you didn't. Even after I lied to the police," she adds.

 

Paul frowns and sets the drawing aside, turning to look at Sally Ann properly. "You sound jealous."

 

"I'm not. Really, I'm not," she adds, her voice and expression firm. "I'm not as easily manipulated as a schoolgirl."

 

"No, you're not," Paul agrees, because it's true.

 

"And I'm pretty sure I wouldn't do _anything_ for you to fuck me," Sally Ann adds, a smile tweaking at her lips.

 

Paul's laugh surprises himself, short and bordering on disbelief, and Sally Ann can't help but laugh as well.

 

"You might if I teased long enough," Paul considers, smirking.

 

Sally Ann rolls her eyes at him. "That's what you think."

 

Paul steals a kiss from her, then pulls back when he remembers something from earlier in the night. "Olivia asked how your day was and you deflected. What happened?"

 

Sally Ann pulls away this time, and Paul deciphers her expression far easier than Olivia's drawing. It's the face she makes when she's had a bad day because some bastard at work has tried to make her life a living hell, and unfortunately, it's an expression he recognises far too well.

 

"Who was it?" he asks, tone cold and demanding.

 

"Who was what?" Sally Ann echoes, confused.

 

"The bastard that got under your skin. Someone said or did something, didn't they?" Paul adds, gentler now and Sally Ann's shoulders sag somewhat.

 

"Mr. Doherty tried to get me fired after I told him it was his fault he had a daughter instead of a son. He's the one that beats up his wife all the time, and she won't do a thing about it," Sally Ann adds, sighing. "Even though he was going to hit me, I'm - "

 

"He what?" Paul interrupts, and Sally Ann stops talking at the danger in his voice.

 

Oh, she knows he's the Belfast strangler, they're far past that truth by now, but she's never heard this tone from him before, and it sends a shiver up her spine. She can't decide if it's fear or arousal, or a combination of both. Sally Ann licks her dry lips before answering, "Mr. Doherty raised his hand to me."

 

Paul goes very still then, retreats into himself as his eyes go cold and dark. "Do you know where the Doherty's live?"

 

"Of course I do, it's in the hospital records. But you're not going to go and kill him, Paul. Not after he's made a scene at my work and threatened to get me fired," Sally Ann points out.

 

Paul clenches his jaw and tells himself that his wife is right. He wishes that she wasn't because for the first time in a very, very long time - since the orphanage, in fact - Paul wants to kill someone and it isn't a woman.

 

"You're right, my beauty," Paul agrees, but he still has that dangerous tone to his voice, and he sees the goosebumps that are pricking up along Sally Ann's skin. "But one day, I'll make him pay."

 

Sally Ann doesn't doubt him for a second, and in that same split second, she finds herself thinking that she'd like to see what her husband would do to Mr. Doherty for herself.

 

...

 

End of the fourth chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

Paul invites Sally Ann out for a dinner date as a way to help reconcile things between them. She can't bring herself to say no - she'll always love Paul in some way or another, no matter what he's done - and a few days later, Sally Ann finds herself slipping on the underwear and dress Paul's chosen for her. Some part of her wonders at the act, as he's never done it before, but she knows all about the Belfast strangler now, and she thinks that maybe Paul's letting her see more of him than she ever has before. She just hopes she doesn't regret it.

 

Paul organises a babysitter for Liam and Olivia - not Katie, thank goodness, or Sally Ann's not sure she'll be leaving the house without blood on her hands - and once Becky arrives to look after the kids, he leads Sally Ann out of the house for a night on the town.

 

They've had plenty of date nights before, some with their friends, but most together and alone, yet somehow, this night is different. There's something in the air that makes Sally Ann's breath catch, and Paul's attentive in a way that she never realised he wasn't before. He doesn't even glance at the attractive brunette that walks in to the restaurant halfway through the meal. (Sally Ann's not _completely_ stupid, she's seen the way her husband's gaze lingers on women before, but she always thought he was just looking, not going off and _killing_ them.)

 

As they're eating dessert, Sally Ann laughing over Paul's anecdote about his colleagues at work, Paul's phone starts ringing. He glances at it for a brief moment before rejecting the call. Normally, Sally Ann would tease and ask if it's his girlfriend calling, but she can't bring herself to do that.

 

"Who was it?"

 

Paul coughs and takes a sip of water. "Katie. I believe she'll be upset we're not using her services tonight."

 

"Is that all she'll be upset about?" Sally Ann asks.

 

Paul's phone starts ringing again, but before he can reject the call, Sally Ann reaches over and answers the call. Paul's jaw tightens, but Sally Ann just listens as Katie begins her tirade without even waiting to confirm who's on the other end of the line.

 

"What the fuck, Paul? You went and hired Becky behind my back! Is this because the cops talked to me? I swear, I lied to them, just like I was supposed to! Then you go and hire _Becky_ , and you haven't answered **any** of my texts or calls in like three fucking weeks!"

 

Yet again, Sally Ann wonders about the teenager's self-preservation; _what if Paul had been arrested again, and Gibson had answered his phone?_

 

"Good evening, Katie," Sally Ann says, her voice calm as she stares at Paul across the table and tries to determine his emotional state.

 

"Oh my god. Mrs. Spector. I ... I, fuck, oh fuck. Um, there..."

 

"Katie, just _stop_. I don't want to hear anything you have to say, is that understood?"

 

Katie makes an aborted sort of sound on the other end of the phone, somewhere between a sob and gasp.

 

"Now, Paul and I are attempting to reconcile our marriage, and your phone calls and texts are certainly not helping matters. You can understand why I don't want you near our children or in our house, can't you, Katie?" Sally Ann adds, almost teasing. Across from her, Paul silently chokes on his laughter. "I would like you to stop calling and texting my husband. It's going to be extremely distracting to hear his phone going off while he has his head between my legs later tonight."

 

Paul's laughter isn't silent anymore, and the laugh he lets out can be heard by most of the tables around them and Katie on the phone as well.

 

"If you _don't_ stop pursuing my husband, your mother will be receiving a phone call from me, is that understood?"

 

Again, there's another odd sound on the other end of the line.

 

"A verbal response, Katie. Do you understand: yes or no?" Sally Ann asks, voice stern like it is with her children when they've done something wrong.

 

Katie finally seems to pull herself together. "He's going to leave you for me, you know that, right? We're in love, and there's nothing you can do to stop us from being together!"

 

This time, it's Sally Ann that laughs, and it's cruel and taunting laughter, something that Paul's never heard from her before. "Katie, if you think that's true, then you don't know a thing about the real world."

 

Sally Ann hangs up from the call and calmly hands the phone back to Paul. "Block her number, would you? I have a feeling she's going to be calling you all damn night, otherwise."

 

Paul flicks through the texts she's sent in the last two hours and decides that his wife is right. He blocks Katie's number; he can always unblock it later when he needs her for something.

 

"The way she answered the phone was worrying, but I guess I should be glad I was the one answering your phone instead of a police officer," Sally Ann mutters. "I swear, Katie is as stupid as she is pretty."

 

Paul smirks. "That's why she's so easy to manipulate, my beauty."

 

Sally Ann raises her eyebrows, then concentrates on scooping out the last of the chocolate mousse from her small glass.

 

"Did you mean what you said, about my head between your legs?" Paul asks coyly.

 

"We'll see."

 

Paul grins and finishes off his own dessert in record time.

 

...

 

Despite his eagerness to leave the restaurant, Paul leads Sally Ann along the footpath instead of back to the car.

 

"Where are we going? The car's the other way," Sally Ann says, tugging to turn back.

 

"I thought it was a nice night for a walk; we won't be long," Paul adds.

 

Sally Ann is confused but curious and lets Paul lead her away. They haven't been walking for very long when Sally Ann realises that they're walking with a purpose. There's no destination in mind, but rather, a person. Paul's eyes track the person carefully, even though they're several metres ahead. She has no idea who they are or what brought them to Paul's attention, but Sally Ann can't help but be curious about both. As the person walks by a restaurant, the light from inside falls over them, and Sally Ann is even more confused because she can see that it's a man they're following. She looks at Paul, frowns, and wonders just what he's thinking. Paul glances at her and shakes his head to avoid any questions, then returns his attention to their victim. If that's even what he is.

 

Eventually, the man goes into a restaurant, and Sally Ann and Paul walk past without lingering. They cross to the other side of the street in silence and walk back to their restaurant and car.

 

"What the hell was that about?" Sally Ann demands as soon as she's sure no one else will hear.

 

"I was... curious," Paul says after a moment of silence. He looks at her then. "I thought he might've done something for you."

 

"Done something?" she echoes, then her eyes widen in understanding. "You wanted me to kill him, didn't you?"

 

Paul doesn't bother denying it and just nods, his eyes watching her like a hawk for her reaction.

 

"I... I'm not doing that again," Sally Ann hisses, glancing around. "It was a mistake, that's all. I was just so pissed off with you that I thought he was you, and that's not something I want to happen again if we're actually trying to do something with this marriage!"

 

Realisation dawns on Paul's face and, confusing Sally Ann even further, he smiles broadly. "Of course, my beauty, you're absolutely right. I should've found you someone that looks like Katie instead. Or how about Katie herself?"

 

Sally Ann pulls her arm out of Paul's grip. "Can you even hear yourself right now, Paul? I said I'm not doing it again! It was a mistake, and if it wasn't for you and the kids, I would've turned myself in."

 

Paul shakes his head. "You wouldn't have done that. You've got a better sense of self-preservation than that. That's why you left with me to Scotland," he adds, so sure and certain of himself that Sally Ann can't help but agree with him internally.

 

Externally however, she shakes her head briefly. "I left with you because I love you."

 

"You said 'love', not 'loved'. So you still love me then?" Paul asks, his voice surprisingly uncertain despite the surety he'd had only seconds ago.

 

"Not sure I do, with you trying to push someone at me like that," Sally Ann mutters, though they both know she's lying.

 

"Sorry, my beauty," Paul murmurs, drawing her in close to kiss.

 

Sally Ann lets him and kisses him back after a few seconds, arms winding around each other.

 

Eventually, Paul drives them back home, and Sally Ann tries not to seem amused or insulted as Becky looks at Paul expectantly after they've paid her for the night. Paul refuses to walk her home and Sally Ann's glad for it since she doubts that she'd let him anyway. Sally Ann offers to drive Becky home herself, and while the young girl looks disappointed, she doesn't disagree.

 

Sally Ann goes upstairs to say goodnight to her dozing children before they fall asleep completely. Olivia sleepily clings to her neck, but falls back to her bed to sleep once Sally Ann pries herself loose from her daughter's surprisingly strong grip. Liam barely stirs when she kisses his forehead and tucks him in properly, and Sally Ann sighs softly as she heads downstairs to drive Becky home.

 

She's tired by the time she gets home half an hour later, but manages to drag herself upstairs to the master bedroom where Paul's probably already asleep. Sally Ann's surprised to see him awake, and even more surprised to see the black bag sitting at the end of the bed.

 

"Taking a holiday, are you?"

 

Paul shakes his head. "No. It's for you."

 

Curious, Sally Ann crosses the room to open the bag and look for herself. It takes a moment for her brain to comprehend exactly what she's seeing: a small brown bottle, duct tape, rope, white gauze still wrapped and contrasting sharply against the black clothes folded at the bottom. It's not until she sees the knife that Sally Ann realises exactly what the bag is. It's Paul's _murder_ bag.

 

"I... You... Paul, why?" she asks, finally settling on a question as she looks up at him.

 

"I want you to have it. You can do whatever you like with it," he adds.

 

Sally Ann looks between his earnest expression and back down to the bag, then back up at her husband again.

 

Paul sits up, slowly, watching her carefully as though she's a skittish creature ready to bolt. Sally Ann almost feels like she is. She could hand the bag in to the police - Paul's fingerprints would be all over it - and he'd be identified as the Belfast strangler. Of course, that would mean that the police would know that the man at the warehouse _definitely_ wasn't one of the Belfast strangler's victims, and start looking into that in far more detail. Her hand clenches on the bag strap for a moment, and she's tempted to just throw it across the room or out the window, get it _out_ of their home.

 

"What if I want to throw it away?"

 

"Then you can do that. I just wanted to help reconcile things, my beauty, and this is another step in achieving that. I - " Paul falters for a moment, looking at the bag and the white-knuckled grip she has on the strap, "I promise I won't kill again."

 

Sally Ann lets go of the bag in shock, and deep down inside of herself, there's also a hint of disappointment. She squashes that feeling as far down as it can go.

 

"Well, unless you want me to, that is."

 

Sally Ann wants to scoff, to say that that would never happen, but she _can't_ say it, not when she knows it's not true. Paul's got that smug smirk on his face, and she knows that he knows as well. She looks away and huffs a sigh, suddenly feeling exhausted and aching and emotional all at once.

 

"I'm going to throw this out tomorrow," she mutters.

 

Paul just smiles and slowly unzips her dress, drawing her in close once more.

 

It isn't until later that night when Paul's sleeping and his warm breath is ghosting along her neck that Sally Ann realises that while her husband had apologised for trying to get her to kill someone, he never said that he wouldn't try to do the same thing to her again; he said he wouldn't kill anyone again, but there was no same promise from her. Sally Ann shuts her eyes tight and wills herself to go to sleep.

 

...

 

End of the fifth chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

Sally Ann's going to have a heart attack and die. If she doesn't do that, then she's going to go to prison and die. Those are the only possible scenarios right now, she's sure of it. She glances in her rear view mirror to the flashing police lights behind her, and forces herself to let go of the steering wheel and school her expression. Looking guilty isn't going to help things in the slightest.

 

"Is there a problem, officer?" Sally Ann asks, trying to sound innocent and confused. (She's definitely one of them, and _innocent_ isn't it.)

 

"Your rear lights aren't working. Oh, hello, Mrs. Spector."

 

It takes Sally Ann a moment to get past the shock of her rear lights to realise that she's been pulled over by Officer Ferrington. The redhead seems a little apprehensive, so Sally Ann smiles to reassure her. She wonders if she was one of the officers that helped ruin her house.

 

"Hello, Officer Ferrington. I wasn't aware of the rear lights, so sorry. Is it both of them, or just one?" she asks.

 

"Oh, just one. The left," Ferrington replies promptly.

 

"I'll take it to the mechanics as soon as I've finished my shift at the hospital," Sally Ann promises.

 

She'll probably ask Paul to look at it, but she doesn't think it's a good idea to bring up her husband's name right now, even if Officer Ferrington's no longer on the case investigating Paul.

 

"I'll be keeping an eye out, so make sure you do that," Ferrington says, smiling quickly again.

 

Sally Ann wants to shudder at the thought of being watched specially by the police, but instead, she nods and takes the reminder Ferrington's written for her.

 

"Have a nice day, Officer," Sally Ann says, watching as she walks back to her car.

 

Her hands are trembling as she watches the police car drive past, and once it's out of sight, she lets her head rest on the steering wheel so she can just _breathe_ again. Sally Ann's going to be late for her shift, but she doesn't speed, as she doesn't want to be pulled over again. She doesn't think she'll be able to handle that again so soon, so Sally Ann she stays on the speed limit and uses hands-free to call Paul.

 

"Are you all right?" Paul answers the phone, his tone full of worry since it's rare for Sally Ann to call him outside of school hours.

 

Sally Ann bites her lip so she won't laugh hysterically in response. She inhales and exhales deeply, then answers, "The police pulled me over. My rear light's broken," she adds and then she does laugh, high and hysterical and she can vaguely hear Paul answering her, though she doesn't hear the words.

 

The tone to Paul's voice changes from concerned to stern and it takes on that dangerous tilt that has her focusing on him, and Sally Ann finally registers what he's saying.

 

"Pull over, my beauty. You're in shock, and you'll crash if you don't get yourself under control."

 

She pulls over again and silently watches as her hands tremble in her lap.

 

"Are you pulled over now?" Paul queries when there's only silence.

 

"Yes. I... I'm sorry, I just... I freaked out and I needed to hear your voice," Sally Ann admits, inhaling and exhaling to calm and steady her nerves.

 

"It's fine, my beauty. I'm glad you called."

 

"Yeah?" she asks, smiling briefly at his admission.

 

"Yeah," Paul echoes, and she can hear the smile in his voice. "We need milk for the kids' cereal; do you want me to do shopping, or will you pick up some up on the way home?"

 

Sally Ann wants to laugh again because it's so normal, a conversation they've probably had hundreds of times before, and things shouldn't be _normal_ when you're both killers, right?

 

"I think you can handle a carton of milk, Paul. And don't forget the vanilla extract; Olivia wants to make cookies with you again this weekend."

 

"Right, we'll probably need a spare carton of eggs then," Paul jokes.

 

They both go silent as they reminisce on the carton of eggs they had used with Olivia's overly-enthusiastic attempts to crack the eggs herself. Most of the egg shell had been scattered throughout the final batches of cookies instead of the bin, but Olivia had been so proud and happy. It was the first time she'd slept the whole night through without nightmares in weeks.

 

"Feeling better, my beauty?" Paul asks after a moment.

 

"Yeah, I am. Now I'm going to be really late for work, so I might have to stay back to make up for it. I'll text to let you when I'm on my way home."

 

"Right. I'll make sure to buy a new bulb for the car, too," Paul adds. "Drive safe."

 

"I always do," Sally Ann replies.

 

"We met because you rear-ended my car," Paul replies, grinning.

 

Sally Ann just laughs and hangs up the phone before driving to work.

 

...

 

Stella Gibson has hit a wall. Proverbially, at least. The Belfast strangler - _Paul Spector_ , she whispers to herself, knowing it to be true even without concrete proof - hasn't killed in almost six weeks. She's been on edge this entire time, waiting for him to strike again, wondering at the game he's playing this time. There's no way that he's simply _stopped_ , not when he's still getting so much attention and fame, not when they're still at the height of their game. But Stella has a niggling worry in the back of her mind, that something, somehow, is completely and utterly wrong. She has no idea what's wrong, and she can't pin the thought or feeling down to examine it more closely, no matter how hard she tries.

 

She's been questioned several times by her colleagues - even Danielle's checked up on her, and that's even more worrying since she shouldn't be hearing things from her division, not about the Belfast strangler investigation, nor about Stella herself.

 

Stella feels as though she's missed something important, and retrieves the video of her interaction with Spector to watch it for the umpteenth time, even though she knows it off by heart by now. This time will be the time where she discovers what she missed last time, surely.

 

...

 

Olivia's excitement is contagious, and Paul can't resist his daughter's big brown eyes when she begs to make cookies tonight to surprise Mummy. He agrees, under the condition that he shows her how to break the eggs this time, and Olivia and Liam both nod very seriously in agreement. Paul decides to bake the cookies with them before their dinner and bath, because if the last attempt is anything to go by, they'll _all_ need baths afterwards and he'll probably have to wash the walls themselves.

 

"Can I lick the spoon?" Liam asks, eyes as wide as his sister's.

 

"I want to lick the spoon!" Olivia cries out immediately.

 

Paul comes to a compromise and gives them one beater each, keeping the spoon for himself. The kitchen falls to silence as they lick at their beaters happily, chocolate and batter smearing over their faces. He just hopes the sugar consumption this late at night won't cause any nightmares or restlessness for either of them. He gets them both to wash their hands again before they make the cookie dough into balls and place them on a tray.

 

Olivia and Liam both seem content to sit in front of the oven and watch the cookies bake through the glass door. Paul watches them, amused at their anticipation and eagerness. He doesn't think he ever felt that kind of joyful anticipation when he was their age, but then, he never exactly had cause to, either. Paul pushes those thoughts away and moves to sit between his children, wrapping an arm around each of them as they wait impatiently.

 

"I'll let you eat these for dinner as long as you don't tell Mummy, all right?" Paul mutters as the oven timer goes off.

 

"Don't tell Mummy what?" Sally Ann asks from the doorway, eyebrow raised as she looks down at them on the kitchen floor.

 

"We're having cookies for dinner!" Olivia exclaims, giggling.

 

"Traitor!" Paul cries, tickling his daughter until her peals of laughter fill the room.

 

"Your dinner's about to burn," Sally Ann says, making them move back so she can take the hot tray out of the oven.

 

"Can we, Mummy?" Liam asks, eyes wide.

 

"That depends on whether your father bought milk."

 

"In the fridge," Paul says, grinning when Liam whoops in excitement and rushes over to the fridge.

 

The bottle of milk is almost as big as Liam's body, and Paul grabs it from him to lift it to the counter, Olivia tucked under his other arm. She makes grabby hands towards the cookies, and Paul gently swings her towards Sally Ann who has a cookie held precariously in her fingertips.

 

"When I grow up, I'm going to fly!" Olivia announces, frowning slightly when she misses the cookie in her mother's hands.

 

Sally Ann breaks off some and pops it in Olivia's mouth. "You're going to fly? Like Superman or fly a plane like a pilot?" she asks curiously.

 

Olivia chews her cookie with her mouth open and swallows before answering. "Both."

 

"All right, you heard the lady. First pilot to fly without a plane," Paul says, stealing a cookie for himself.

 

He mimics his wife and breaks off some for Liam, and is rewarded with a broad smile from both his son and wife.

 

"You two go sit at the table, we'll organise this very unhealthy dinner, okay?" Sally Ann says, ushering their children towards the dining room.

 

Olivia and Liam don't argue, and Paul ducks his head to kiss Sally Ann in greeting.

 

"We were going to surprise you, to make you feel better," Paul admits.

 

"Surprise is definitely one emotion I'm feeling. Next time, make them eat dinner first, one with _vegetables_ ," Sally adds, patting his chest as she moves past to get glasses out for the milk.

 

...

 

End of the sixth chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

Paul should have known that he couldn't just cut Katie out of his life and that would be that. She was far too infatuated to let it be that, no matter the threats his wife made. Still, almost a week after his dinner date with Sally Ann and the taunting threats she made against Katie, Paul is surprised to find his home broken in to yet again. Katie's the perpetrator this time, and she's left evidence behind. Three Polaroid photos, one of herself in front of the bathroom mirror, wearing the shirt with his face on it, another of her lying on the bed fully clothed and posing like one of his victims, and the third of her on the bed again, but this time completely naked. Paul strips the bed and washes the sheets immediately.

 

Sally Ann's suspicious when she gets home to find brand new sheets on the bed, but her suspicions turn to anger when Paul shows her the photos Katie left behind. Sally Ann stalks around their bedroom, trying not to wake the kids, and then she turns on Paul. She's cold, hard, _dangerous_ , and the sight of her filled with so much fury makes him want to back her against the bed and fuck her 'til morning.

 

"You go through every inch of this house and make sure that no one - not even you - can get in here. This is our home, Paul, and she... Fuck. Just, make sure it won't happen again."

 

Paul already knows of three weak spots that he can fix, and he's oddly entranced by the idea of making it impenetrable to even himself.

 

"I'll make sure it won't happen again," Paul promises, and draws Sally Ann in close to kiss and stroke.

 

The anger's still coursing through her, and much like she did in the lounge room all those weeks ago (or was it months, now?), Sally Ann takes Paul on a rough, bloody, and bruising ride.

 

Despite Paul's desire, they don't quite make it until morning, but they're both satisfied anyway. Afterwards, Paul watches as Sally Ann puts the three Polaroids in the bathroom sink and lights them on fire with the long-armed lighter for the stovetop. He grins at the sight, his wife naked and wielding a flame to burn the photos until there's nothing but ash and globs of plastic left. Sally Ann washes the mess down the sink and climbs back into bed beside him, curling around him possessively. Paul doesn't mind one bloody ounce.

 

...

 

Sally Ann can't get it out of her head, the idea of Katie breaking in to her house, lying on her bed, and destroying all sense of normalcy that she and Paul just got back. She hates it, feels hesitant as she gets to the door every night that week, wondering if their ex-babysitter's broken in again and she'll have to destroy another set of sheets. No matter that Paul washed them, Sally Ann refused to have them in the house, on _their_ bed, and she'd stuffed them into a large garbage bag and thrown them in the bin herself. Early the next morning, Sally Ann had watched as that bag flew out of the bin and into the garbage collector's truck, and it was only when the truck was no longer in sight that she returned to her husband in bed.

 

She's tempted to ring the police, her fingers itching every time she looks at her phone, but Sally Ann knows she can't. Katie might have lied for Paul, as she had herself, but Sally Ann knows that as soon as the police pick the girl up again, Paul will probably be going to gaol soon after. Or if not him, then Sally Ann will; even if Katie doesn't have concrete proof, the police are far too interested in her family to let any measure of doubt slip past. So Sally Ann drops her hand, lets her eyes slide past her phone and instead watches her husband as he walks around the house in trousers and a singlet, his muscles clearly defined and all for _her_.

 

Paul's been fixing up the house, bringing boards and nails and all sorts of things that she doubted he's even looked at before all this, and making it secure. He collapses in bed next to her every night, callouses forming on his hands, and the rough feel of them against her skin, brushing against her breasts as he idly caresses her and dozes off is enough to make Sally Ann _want_ and _ache_ for her husband all over again. Olivia's had two nightmares this week, so that lustful feeling never lasts long, and by the time she's settled their daughter, Sally Ann returns to find Paul utterly exhausted and snoring, his face pressed against his pillow.

 

Still, when Paul collapses beside her yet again late on Friday night (or very early on Saturday morning), Sally Ann goes still when he presses his body up against her, his rough hand slipping under her shirt to rub and tweak at her pebbled nipple.

 

"It's done, my beauty. No one'll get in once the door's locked; not even me," Paul says, his voice and hand hot against her skin.

 

"Promise?" she asks into the night, voice soft and low.

 

"Promise," he murmurs, a kiss sealing his words against her shoulder.

 

Sally Ann turns in his loose embrace, arching against his mouth and hands and body, and Paul smiles down at her before he captures her mouth in a kiss. It's so soft and sweet, tender in a way neither of them have had time for in far too long, and Sally Ann briefly forgets that her husband is a serial killer. 

 

Later, she wonders if he forgets that about himself too.

 

...

 

Stella's booked a flight back to London. She's done with the Belfast strangler, can't let herself drown in this investigation, especially not when the men around her are actively trying to push her head underwater. It's not just the poisonous and toxic environment, but also her own obsession. It's a part of herself that she hates, the need for validation and the way she has to follow something through to the bitter end because Gibson's aren't quitters. Well, she's proving everyone wrong on that point because she's leaving for London in five hours.

 

Danielle seems concerned at her abrupt announcement and departure, but Stella kisses her briefly and lets her go. She has to let everything about Belfast go - the strangler, the relationships, the everything dragging her down and drowning her - or else she'll lose herself entirely.

 

The investigation itself is handed over in a depressingly short amount of time, especially considering how long she's been following and obsessing over it, but with no recent kills or games to play with the killer, there's no fresh leads and not much else they can do. Unless another dead body appears in the next five hours, it will no longer be Stella's concern. She's not entirely sure she regrets that, either.

 

Her suitcase is packed and already sitting by the door, the taxi booked, and Stella has returned all of the evidence she'd collected ever since taking on this investigation. Now, there's nothing to do but wait.

 

...

 

End of the seventh chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

Paul understands the concept of hypocrisy, of course, but before now he's never really associated it with himself. Now, however, he understands the feeling of it far too well. He tries to look at his hypocrisy from another angle, because while _he_ breaks in to women's homes with the intent to scare and intimidate them, he's never done that to any woman that has a child, that has an _innocent_ with them (boyfriends don't count, they're never innocent). He has Olivia and Liam though, and they're both innocent - despite Olivia's pictures of his murderous past-time - and they should never face the horror of their home being desecrated, of their home being _unsafe_. Not again. He's done all he possibly can to ensure that they'll never feel that way again, securing everything from the leaky roof to the cat door, but there's one more thing he knows that he has to do before his job's finished.

 

Paul sends a text to Katie for her to meet him at her house, then tucks his phone away and starts jogging, his black jacket zipped up high and his hoodie obscuring his face. This will be the first time he's going outside of his self-imposed limitations on the women he kills - professional, single, mid-thirties - but for the safety of his children and family, Paul doesn't think it's a bad thing to expand his horizons.

 

It doesn't take long for Paul to arrive at his destination, and Katie opens the door as soon as he arrives. Paul takes in the pale pallor of her skin, the slight widening of her eyes as if she's silently trying to communicate with him, and he tenses as he steps inside the townhouse, Katie closing the door behind him. The tense set of Paul's shoulders relaxes completely when he sees the reason for Katie's concern.

 

"My beauty," he breathes, almost reverently because in that moment, his wife has never looked more beautiful.

 

Sally Ann raises an eyebrow at him and his presence, but Paul can't respond, not yet. He's taking in every detail, every moment of this. The sunlight's already gone, so there's no fading light to reflect off her hair or something equally poetic, but instead the overhead light is a bright LED that reflects rather harshly, making him see every detail of his wife as Paul doubts he's seen before. Sally Ann is dressed in black from head to toe, her hair tied and pinned up to the point where his own head aches at the sight, and her body is tense as a bowstring, watching him and Katie with eyes that match his own - bright and deadly and murderous.

 

Paul sees that his gym bag is sitting beside her, the one he'd shown, offered, and given to her after their date night, the very one that she had said she'd thrown away, and he can't help but laugh at the sight. It's not humorous laughter, not by far, but Sally Ann seems to understand and she smiles in response. Katie's behind him, forgotten for the moment, and she looks between Paul and Sally Ann in utter confusion.

 

"Paul, tell her. Tell her the truth: that you're leaving her and you're in love with me! If we kill her now, we can be together. Forever, just like we promised," Katie begs, eyes wide and imploring.

 

Paul's laughter dies off abruptly and he turns, his hand wrapped around Katie's neck as he slams her back against the door. "I _never_ promised you anything."

 

Katie gives a moan, arching under his touch, and he lets go of her in disgust.

 

"Oh, Katie, sweetheart, you've obviously never had sex if you think that actually sounds sexy," Sally Ann mocks, taunts, sneers, as she makes her way to stand beside Paul.

 

It's a presence he's never had at a time like this, but he thinks it's one he could fast become addicted to. Sally Ann curls a hand over his shoulder possessively and presses a kiss to his cheek, just to rub salt in Katie's wounds. Paul smirks, turns his head, and returns the kiss eagerly.

 

"You're not going to kill me. I've told all of my friends all about you! It's all over Facebook! My friends'd tell the police as soon as I was found," Katie sneers, though she's looking at them uncertainly, doubt flickering in her gaze.

 

Sally Ann laughs, and Paul resists the temptation to bury his face in his wife's neck and listen to that laugh for hours.

 

"Katie, who the _fuck_ said you'd be found?" Sally Ann asks, sounding almost incredulous. "One Facebook message from you about leaving town with the _love of your life_ , and no one will ever think to look for you," she adds.

 

Paul watches as Katie pales dramatically then, and she looks to him as if trying to plead with him silently again. He simply smirks, moves forward until he's pressed up against her, and wraps his hands around her neck again. Then, because he can't resist, Paul leans forward to whisper in her ear, "I was _never_ going to fuck you."

 

Katie gurgles under his grip, grabbles at his hands futilely, and starts to turn an unflattering red colour.

 

"Paul, do you remember your promise to me?" Sally Ann asks, her hand on his shoulder.

 

Paul goes still, trying to clear the haze from his mind, the feeling of euphoria, and tries to remember what Sally Ann's talking about. His words come back to haunt him then: _I promise I won't kill again_.

 

His grip slackens briefly, enough for Katie to inhale some much-needed oxygen. She gets her wits about her enough to slam her knee into his crotch, and Paul doubles over, eyes watering and gasping in pain. Katie doesn't get far at all; she's underestimated Sally Ann, it seems, as has he. Paul doesn't quite know what happens, but one minute Katie's trying to run away, and the next she's slammed up against the door again, Sally Ann's hand wrapped around her throat and squeezing painfully.

 

"You do **_not_** hurt my husband, is that understood?" she snarls, her voice guttural more than anything.

 

Katie whimpers, and slowly, Paul stands up again. He's still in pain, but not so much that he wants to miss this. Despite her concern, Sally Ann barely spares him a glance, her gaze focused completely and utterly on the young girl in front of them.

 

There's a flash of headlights from the road, and they both realise that the foyer to the house isn't the best area to do this. Paul gathers the chloroform and gauze from his bag, and Sally Ann nods firmly in response. Katie makes a noise, her face getting closer to purple now, but she breathes the chemical in as easily as his other victims and soon goes limp in Sally Ann's grip.

 

"What do you plan on doing, my beauty?" Paul asks, looking between the unconscious young girl and his wife.

 

"Haven't decided, actually. You knocked on the door as I was still contemplating what to do. I was actually going to call you to come help, you know," Sally Ann adds, grinning at him.

 

"I would've come to help in a heartbeat, my beauty," he murmurs, pressing a light kiss to her lips.

 

"I know. I still don't know if I want to make it similar to yours, or a different MO completely."

 

Paul waits with bated breath for her decision, watching thoughts and emotions flicker across Sally Ann's face with such clarity that it's breathtaking. He can see her hate, her anger, the brief amount of jealousy, the hint of reluctance, the regret and remorse - _already, so soon!_ \- and he can see the desire lingering in her gaze. It's not a desire of flesh or pleasure, but rather the same desire that captures him every time: the desire to see the light fade from the eyes of the person in front of you.

 

"I might copy yours again, if you don't mind, Paul? I know what to do then, and we have to figure out a way to get rid of her body, especially if I post that message about her leaving town with you."

 

"You know her Facebook password?"

 

Sally Ann laughs, almost scoffs, and shakes her head. "She already told me her phone passcode before you got here, and she's always logged in to the Facebook app. I could write a whole page of Facebook statuses right now, and no one would know the difference."

 

Paul frowns slightly. "I'm pretty sure however many friends she has will realise that it's not Katie typing."

 

Sally Ann smirks at him then. "Three months ago, Katie had 248 friends. Two months ago, she had 249. I know _exactly_ what to write to sound just like her."

 

Paul blinks at that unexpected knowledge. "I think I just fell in love with you all over again."

 

"Oh, please, don't be an idiot. Grab her and take her upstairs. Her bedroom is the second on the right-hand side."

 

Paul lifts Katie over his shoulder easily and starts walking upstairs.

 

"Actually, take her to the first door on the right instead. No one will expect her to be strangled to death in her own parent's bed."

 

He really does fall in love with his wife all over again, Paul's sure of it.

 

...

 

End of the eighth chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

Sally Ann decides that if anyone _does_ become suspicious of Katie's disappearance, the police will search the teenager's bedroom, and not have any reason to go to her parent's bedroom. She feels emotionally detached as she watches Paul lay Katie on the bed, and idly, Sally Ann realises this is the same way she feels when another neonatal baby has died on her ward. She can't become attached or let anything affect her because she'll become overwhelmed with emotions, and while the mother and father can have time off work, she has to return to work after delivering the bad news. Sally Ann can't afford to become emotionally attached, not in her work, and _definitely_ not here.

 

She's tempted to just choke the life out of the girl now. There'll be less of a struggle, and the girl's already shown that she'll fight dirty to survive, but Sally Ann can't bring herself to do it just yet. She wants to see what Paul sees, she wants to see the light and life leaving her eyes, the knowledge that she's about to die shining through in those last moments. There's no such knowledge in the babies, and this will be so utterly different and fascinating for Sally Ann. She uses the rope from Paul's bag to tie the girl up. The duct tape would leave marks that would be far too obvious, and while the rope is strong, it's not going to shed fibres everywhere if the girl struggles a lot.

 

Sally Ann stands beside Paul to survey her handiwork. He offered small suggestions to keep the rope bound properly, and she took them on board without acknowledging his input just yet. She's found silence here in a way that she's never found before. Even when she's quiet at work or home, there's never been this _emptiness_ in her mind, a complete and utter void of thought or feeling.

 

The girl struggles awake after a few moments, eyes wide as she begs to be let go. Sally Ann watches her for a moment longer to ensure that the ropes won't fall away. Paul was right with his suggestions, and the girl is secure for as long as Sally Ann needs. She makes her way over to the girl, watching impassively as she begs again and pleads, promises not to say a word, everything and anything to survive. Sally Ann shakes her head. To think that she suspected her husband of cheating on her with this foolish girl.

 

Paul offers her the duct tape, and after the girl starts screaming for help, Sally Ann takes the roll. Soon, muffled sobs are all that can be heard from the girl, and Sally Ann sits on her torso to stop her from struggling too much. She's vaguely aware of Paul moving so he can see them both but she doesn't pay him any attention. Instead, she looks down at the girl who's crying now, and wraps her hands around her throat. This girl, who tried to lure her husband away, who tried to destroy her marriage, who would have willingly ruined her _children's_ future by destroying their home, this girl who thinks only of herself and no one else, who thinks she's old enough to understand the real world but doesn't understand a single thing beyond her own world. This girl, this girl is covered in red, the colour a haze as Sally Ann squeezes her hands around the girl's throat tighter, the girl struggling, crying, whimpering and begging behind the tape, her face turning from red to purple. Sally Ann lets go, watches as the colour fades back to her normal skin tone, her gaze flicking down to her neck where hand marks are slowly forming with red marks, and looks back up to see the hope in the girl's eyes. _Foolish, stupid, naive girl_.

 

Sally Ann wraps her hands around the girl's neck again and squeezes. The girl starts to turn a darker shade of purple before she lets go this time. The inhaling through her nose immediately afterwards is awkward and disgusting, the girl blubbering and crying and making a snotty mess of herself. Paul captures Sally Ann's attention once she stops being so fascinated with the marks around the girl's neck and the light that's struggling to shine in her wet eyes. When he has her attention, Paul kisses her. It's firm and rough, lips sliding and tongue licking and teeth biting, and it feels glorious. But Sally Ann knows that she has to stay emotionally detached or she won't finish this and Katie - _the girl_ \- will escape, go to the police, and their beautiful innocent children will grow up without their parents. Sally Ann presses a firm kiss to her husband's lips, silently implores him to understand, and then turns her attention back to the girl.

 

(Paul's presence never leaves her, he never strays from her side, never looks away, but he also never tries to kiss her and distract her again, and she's grateful that he understands.)

 

She looks down at the girl, the bruises that are forming on her delicate skin, and Sally Ann wipes away her tears with the pads of her thumbs. The girl tries to flinch back unsuccessfully from her touch, and Sally Ann allows one more moment of emotion so she can laugh at the sight. Then she wraps her hands around the girl's neck, and this time, she doesn't stop. She watches as the girl's eyes go wide in understanding, the sobs wet and broken underneath the duct tape, and she struggles again, futilely trying to jerk her hips and dislodge Sally Ann, but the girl's getting too weak to provide much of a resistance or a fight, and the light starts to leave her eyes as the fragile bones start to break and fracture under Sally Ann's grip. The girl's windpipe is constricting and being crushed and she can't breathe and she isn't getting enough oxygen to _anywhere_ , so her body starts to shut down. The girl loses feeling in the unnecessary limbs and toes and fingers, while her brain struggles to stay alive and the heart to keep pumping to the necessary organs.

 

Sally Ann can see this whole process happening from start to finish, can feel it happening under her body as the girl's gasps become shorter and longer in between. Then, as the colour fades from her face, and oxygen is blocked to her brain completely, the light fades from her eyes completely, and the girl goes still and limp. Sally Ann has to sit there for a moment, simply sit there and stare, because she _never_ thought it would be like that. She can feel _everything_ all of a sudden, the rush of emotion filling and overflowing her even as it left the girl completely.

 

She turns to Paul, trying to think, to put her feelings into words, but she shakes her head instead and doesn't know how to articulate it. Again, he seems to understand without words, and he pulls her off the girl's body and into his arms, kissing her hard enough to bruise. Sally Ann only realises that she's laughing a few minutes later, the sound swallowed and muffled against Paul's mouth and lips. It's a rush of endorphins and fear and adrenaline, and she feels as though every nerve ending is alive and on fire, and she can feel every single one underneath her skin.

 

Paul buries his face in the crook of her neck, his tongue swiping out to the salt on her skin, and when he pulls away, Sally Ann is sure that she looks just as crazed he does. Paul smirks, presses a kiss to her lips once more, then moves to untie the girl from the bed and finish their job. Sally Ann has to sit on the end of the bed for a few minutes to breathe and calm down, her fingers trembling in a way that's foreign to her. She's always been in control of her emotions and body, especially so being a nurse and working in operation theatres, and Sally Ann just watches her fingers tremble until Paul tugs on the bed sheet to get her to stand.

 

Finally, Sally Ann settles herself and her emotions, and sets about to help her husband to cover up the crime they've committed.

 

...

 

End of the ninth chapter.


	10. Epilogue

The Belfast strangler has seemingly disappeared into thin air, with the last murder happening almost six months ago now. That's what the media's saying about the serial killer, at least, and to keep her own sanity, that's what Jeannie prefers to believe as well. The creatures outside of her house can't hurt her if they don't exist. She just wishes that the creatures inside of her house couldn't hurt her, too.

 

There's a knock at the door, and since it's bordering on 10pm Jeannie's a little concerned at who's calling at that time. There's another knock and this one's loud enough that her husband can hear it from the lounge room. Jeannie just hopes the noise won't wake the baby.

 

"Open the bloody door already!"

 

Jeannie winces, despite her husband being in a different room all together, and looks over to the baby monitor quickly. There's no noise from it thankfully, so she goes to the front door, her mind still half-on the baby and her husband. She opens the door without asking who it is, though she usually does that, even if it's the middle of the day. Jeannie's surprised to see the visitors though, and she wonders just why the nurse has come at this time of the night, especially since her daughter's been out of hospital for five months now. Even more so since the nurse herself looks heavily pregnant.

 

"Good evening, Mrs. Doherty. Sorry to call on you so late, but my husband and I were in the neighbourhood, our car's broken down, and as our luck would have it, both of our phones are dead. Do you mind if we use your phone to call a tow truck?" the nurse asks, smiling pleasantly.

 

Jeannie glances back over her shoulder towards the lounge room where her husband's watching the telly. By the time she looks back, the nurse and her husband have chloroform ready, and she succumbs to the chemical in a few seconds. Her last coherent thought before passing out is that she thought the nurse had taken a job overseas, far away from Belfast.

 

"Mr. Doherty? Your wife's just collapsed, you need to call an ambulance," the nurse calls out.

 

The man comes lumbering out of the lounge room, beer in hand, and face red in anger at the thought of wasting money on his weak wife. He doesn't get far before he's chloroformed as well, and collapses to the ground, the rest of his beer spilling out over the floor.

 

Paul smirks at his wife. "I told you I'd make him pay."

 

Sally Ann raises an eyebrow back at him. "Don't forget that I'm the one that suggested this holiday to visit my mother so you could get your revenge. I would've been just as happy continuing on through Europe."

 

"Hmm, I must send Stella another postcard," Paul muses to himself.

 

"If you stopped sending her postcards, we could just kill her and have it over and done with. You keep putting yourself back in the spotlight with stupid moves like that!"

 

"It keeps me sated," Paul replies, this argument well-worn between them, but no less entertaining.

 

Sally Ann glowers at her husband. "I'd prefer you kept _me_ sated instead."

 

"Oh, I will later. Your mother gave us the weekend off from the kids, and I have a hotel suite booked."

 

Sally Ann's glower fades, and she sighs as she looks to the Doherty's still lying on the kitchen floor. "Do you think we could have ended up like them?"

 

"I'd never hit you, or the kids," Paul says promptly, fiercely.

 

"I know, I know. I meant more how they hate each other. Well, I suppose she's more scared of her husband than hating, but you know what I mean," Sally Ann says, squatting and picking Mrs. Doherty's light frame up carefully.

 

Across from her, Paul continues to struggle with Mr. Doherty's larger body. He stops for a moment to consider the situation and his wife's question. "Honestly, I don't think I could ever hate you, my beauty." 

 

Sally Ann rolls her eyes at his response, but he can see a smile tugging at her lips too. Paul decides to grab Mr. Doherty's ankles and slide him through the house; it will be much easier than trying to carry him. By the time Mr. Doherty is in the lounge room, Sally Ann has Mrs. Doherty in the car, and has gone upstairs to get the sleeping newborn. Paul stands in front of the baby's father to shield and protect its innocence, even if the baby's still asleep, and waits until Sally Ann returns with a black bag a few minutes later.

 

"I dosed Mrs. Doherty up with chloroform again; that should give us enough time to deal with him and get her out," Sally Ann says, dropping the bag next to Mr. Doherty.

 

Paul nods absent-mindedly, opening the bag and selecting his tools. Sally Ann stands back, her hand resting over her stomach gently, and watches as her husband gets to work.

 

...

 

Jeannie wakes up in her car to the sound of the ocean. There's crashing waves, the smell of salt even from inside of her car, and for a terrifying moment, she thinks that she's died. As she blinks the sleep out of her eyes, her daughter wakes and makes her hunger well-known to all in a 5km radius. _Well, she's definitely not dead, then_ , Jeannie muses. She has no idea where she is, how she got here, or what exactly's going on, but her daughter's hungry, and she takes first priority. Jeannie gathers her daughter up from the car seat and adjusts her shirt so she can eat, her daughter latching on to her nipple almost painfully.

 

As Jeannie tries to calm her daughter and ease her grip on her breast, she realises that there's a thermos sitting in the car's cupholder and a small brown paper bag sitting beside it. She's beyond curious - and thirsty, now that she's thinking about it - but obviously has to wait for her daughter to finish. When she's sated, Jeannie sets her back in the car seat and reaches for the bag and thermos. She doesn't even question the coffee that's made just the way she likes it, or the croissants that fill the bag, and eats and drinks until she's as sated as her daughter. Jeannie's about to scrunch up the bag when she sees a note sticking to the side of it. Pulling it off, she frowns as she reads it, and then re-reads it because it just doesn't make sense.

 

 _Take care of yourself and your daughter_.

 

Whatever weird, cryptic notes she gets in a bag full of croissants take second place to Jeannie's realisation that she's got no idea where she is, and her husband is probably awake and wanting breakfast, wherever he is. She would ring him, but her phone's no where in sight, so instead, Jeannie makes sure her daughter's settled in properly and turns the car ignition on. She turns the car around and sees an arrow drawn in the dirt, pointing to the left. Following it is as a good idea as any, and after about twenty minutes, Jeannie recognises the landmarks.

 

She ends up in Belfast after another forty-five minutes, and turns into her street to find police and ambulance vehicles parked outside of her house. Her heart's hammering in her chest as she parks the car, gathers her daughter, and runs up to the house.

 

"Excuse me, ma'am, you can't go in there! This is a crime scene!" a redheaded woman calls out to stop her.

 

"That's my house," Jeannie replies, eyes wide when she sees a stretcher with a body bag on it. "I... Where's my husband?"

 

The redhead - Ferrington, her badge says - looks sympathetic for a moment. Then she takes in the black eye and the bruises on Jeannie's arm and her sympathy fades.

 

"He's dead, ma'am. There's an ambulance over here; why don't you tell me where you've been?" she says, leading her away.

 

Jeannie's memory is foggy, and she's not sure what was a dream and what wasn't. She can't bring herself to mention the nurse, because she _knows_ that the woman left Belfast a few months ago, and why on earth would she come back here for? There's no way that that was real, she obviously dreamed it, to be able to stand up to her husband like the nurse had, even though Jeannie had been quaking in fear at the time. So when Ferrington asks if there's anyone that could have had a grudge against her husband, Jeannie suggests the name of his bookies (three of them, that she knows about), a few people down at the local pub, and firmly leaves any mention of nurses and their husbands out of it. It was just a dream.

 

...

 

Olivia and Liam are eager to be returning home, tired of Belfast's dreary weather after spending the last four months in lovely European sunshine and weather. Paul and Sally Ann agree with their children wholeheartedly. Sally Ann's mother eyes Paul off, still distrusting, and barely kisses her daughter goodbye, still upset about the door being closed in her face all of that time ago. Her grandchildren receive far more attention, but Olivia and Liam are the first ones on the plane as soon as their grandmother lets go long enough once the boarding's started. Watching as her mother sniffs and leaves without another word of farewell, Sally Ann hides her smile against her husband's shoulder, and Paul turns to kiss her.

 

"Remind me to never become my mother," she murmurs against his lips.

 

"I can safely say that there is absolutely _no chance_ of that happening, my beauty," he replies, grabbing their carry-on bag and leading her towards the gate after their children.

 

Sally Ann rests against Paul's shoulder on the plane, his hand resting on her stomach and feeling their baby kick against his fingers and palm. Olivia and Liam are already engrossed in their own world - Liam with a colouring book, and Olivia with a book - but Olivia pulls a face at the expression on her father's face when she glances up at them a minute later. Paul pokes his tongue back out at her, and grins when Sally Ann laughs at them both.

 

"Almost home, my beauty," Paul reassures her, knowing how much Sally Ann hates flying.

 

She breathes in deeply and squeezes his hand in hers as she tries to mentally prepare for the flight ahead. Sally Ann's glad to be going home, and knows that once the children are asleep that night, she and Paul will prepare one more game before their third baby's birth.

 

She can't wait.

 

...

 

The end.

Thanks for reading!


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